


Scorned

by TragicZombie



Category: The Walking Dead (Video Games)
Genre: Post-Apocalypse, Survival Horror, Survivor Guilt, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:56:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2258346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TragicZombie/pseuds/TragicZombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Who am I?" The overcast sky soughs soft, silent flakes as the three push their way through endless snowdrifts. The wind is merciless, and cuts at their rasping throats as though punishing them for their misdeeds. "You are no one," it seems to say, before buffeting them with a heavy sigh of contempt.<br/>   How many more nights must they suffer through to atone for their past mistakes? As the nights grow darker and longer, Arvo, Mike, and Bonnie must choose whether to pursue redemption or survival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This spin- off fanfiction is based off of Telltale Game’s The Walking Dead. The ending of season two left me disappointed in its treatment of Mike, Arvo, and Bonnie. It follows the story of Mike, Arvo, and Bonnie as if their plan to flee in the truck had worked.  
> Often, Arvo will speak in Russian. In this case, all of what he is saying will be italicized and in quotes. It will be specifically said that the other characters either do not acknowledge him or do not know what he is saying.   
>  Constructive feedback is greatly appreciated.

 

 

1. 

 

   It was going to happen eventually, but it came as a shock nonetheless. The old metal truck had been sputtering pathetically for the past quarter mile, and presently it gave in with a rude jerk, startling Arvo out of an uneasy sleep. 

   “Dammit”, Mike swore. 

   “Oh, shit.” Bonnie leaned forward, gripping the dash as she peered out the frosted windows nervously. “Is there any gas in the back?”

   “If there was, I’d be surprised,” Mike sighed. “Checked the whole thing out before we left. If there had been any, Kenny would have taken taken it out and put it with the rest of the supplies.”

   “Which we took,” Bonnie sat back in her seat, her breath letting out in a single, troubled huff. It hung in the air for a moment, before the pale mist dispersed into the frigid air of the truck’s interior. “I don’t know…I can’t help thinking that we didn’t do the right thing. We could have left some supplies for the others…”

   “We had no choice,” Mike slid his hands from the useless steering wheel and into his lap, rubbing them together for a brief flash of warmth. 

   “But AJ…and _Clementine…_ oh, God, Clem…”

   Unable to ignore his own shame any longer, Mike looked away. 

   “Is…very cold,” Arvo muttered uncertainly. Although he thought he could trust Mike, he feared that the rest of the group— the ones they left behind--- would pursue them. He may not speak much English, or be very brave, but he knew enough to know that Mike and Bonnie were runners, not fighters. If Kenny came after them, there would be nothing to protect Arvo from being literally beaten to death by Kenny. 

   “That it is,” Mike agreed quietly. He seemed unwilling to say anymore.

   “We could hunker down here for the night,” Bonnie suggested. “Just ‘til it’s light. We can think of a plan then.”

   “Maybe not,” Arvo said in a small voice. He was still not sure about his standing in the group. “Should…more distance from others…?” He struggled to speak English, as cold as he was. _I should have paid better attention in English class,_ he reflected regretfully.

   “Look, Arvo, I understand that you want to get as far away from Kenny as possible, but there’s nowhere that we can go right now.” Mike made sure to articulate every word carefully. There was no telling how much he actually understood what they were saying. “And with your leg…man, it’s just better we stay put.” 

   “…yes.” Arvo disagreed, but couldn’t think of the words to express his concern that they were too exposed on the side of the open highway. 

   “The two of you rest. I’ll take first watch.” Bonnie managed to smile thinly, despite the dismal situation.

   “You sure?”

   “I can handle it, Mike,” she replied kindly. “I think I’ll sit in the bed of the truck, so I have a full view. Can’t be too much colder out there than in here. I’ll wake you when I’m tired.”

   “Be safe.”

   The heavy truck rocked slightly as Bonnie climbed into the back, shotgun in hand. Arvo thought that her absence left too much empty space in the truck, and a want of warmth. He watched Mike from cracked glasses as his tired ally rested his head against his arm and quickly fell asleep. 

   Arvo turned his head to look through the window at the back of the truck. Bonnie sat upright and alert, cradling the shotgun against her arm. He only saw the back of her head, but could imagine her furrowed brow as she scanned the vicinity for the walking dead. The image made hime feel somewhat safer. He turned away from the window, and resigned himself to reliving the horrors of the past few days.

_I wonder how that little girl is doing,_ he thought. _She should live…I shot her in the shoulder. And as small as she is, it probably went clean through…_ Nevertheless, his stomach squirmed at the remembrance of her tiny body falling onto the hard, frozen ground, blood pooling beneath her. _She killed my sister…but…oh, why can’t I control my impulses?_ He hadn’t wanted to shoot her. Not really. But the girl herself had been armed—- and as she had slowly advanced towards them, gun twitching from Mike, to Arvo, to Mike again, his hand had suddenly compressed the trigger without warning, surprising everyone present—- including Arvo. _Natasha was right,_ he reflected miserably. _She told me once that I’m like a deer caught in headlights when I’m scared. I freeze, but then my body acts as if of its own accord. My brain only jolts into action just in time to suffer over whatever I’ve done…_ He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a sigh. He didn’t want to think about Natasha. And Natasha wasn’t an excuse for what he had done. The little girl had shown loyalty to Kenny—-(he unconsciously squeezed his hands into fists at this turn of thought, as though wringing the neck of a small, helpless animal)—- but…as a little girl, how could she be anything _but_ loyal to those who seemed to keep her safe? And anyway, she had stuck up for him every chance she got. _And I repay her with a bullet through the shoulder._

   “Hey.” 

   Arvo turned to the sound of Mike’s voice. “What,” He asked tiredly.

   “It’s just…your leg. What’s the story about that?”

   Arvo followed his gaze to the black metal brace affixed to his right leg. “Broken,” he muttered. 

   “I kind of figured,” Mike replied patiently. “How long ago did you break it?” 

   Arvo blinked a few times. _Dir’mo, I must seem like an unintelligent moron!_ Arvo could already tell that this language barrier was going to be a problem. _Arvo, you Durak neshtiasnyI, what have you gotten yourself into?_

   From his hesitation to answer, Mike came to the false conclusion that Arvo was unwilling to talk about it. “Look, man, it’s okay. I just wanted to get an idea about how far along you are in the healing process.”

   “It…argh…eight months,” Arvo managed. “I fell out of tree. I was…I keep watch.” He tried, at least. “I was lucky. My sister…fix,” he trailed off, ill- equipped to finish the sentence. He knew enough about this stuff from his sister, who had been studying to be a doctor. If fixed correctly to his leg, the brace should have allowed for a better recovery. The fracture itself hadn’t been that bad—- but the tendons in his knee had strained. Natasha had suggested days earlier that it would soon be time to take a look at the injury. The healing process, he knew, was nearly, if not completely, over. Although he definitely hadn’t been resting the leg enough to foster proper healing, so it could take longer. _Arvo, Ti Durak! You can’t even speak English, you moron!_ He wished he could simply will Mike to understand all of this.

   “Eight months? I don’t know anything about this stuff, but isn’t that near long enough? My brother broke his arm when he was a kid, but I guess that’s different.” Mike rubbed the back of his neck, as if trying to wipe away the stress of the situation.

   “I know. My sister…was a doctor.”

   “She was? So how much longer do you think you need?”

   “Very soon, I check. Tomorrow, if safe.”

   Mike nodded. “Alright. How’s your lip?” He gestured to his own, to clarify his meaning.

   Arvo reached up to touch his sore lip. _Niegadzai Sooksin…that good for nothing son of a bitch._ His face was badly bruised, as was much of his torso. His unbroken leg had a bad bruise on the thigh from when Kenny had knelt on him at one point while he was beating him up. It still hurt like hell. “I’m not so very well.”

   “I’m glad we left when we did. That man was a train derailed,” Mike set his head back on his hand. “Apparently he wasn’t always like that. Clem—“ he winced in guilt “—-Clementine said that he had lost his wife and son. Was never the same after that.”

   Arvo didn’t want to feel sympathy for Kenny. He looked away and glared out his window. The very mention of that man made his mouth taste of bile.

   “Well, I guess everyone changed for the worse after this whole walker business began. But Kenny…he just completely lost it. Had we stuck around, there’s no telling what he would have done. He…he was a danger to all of us.”

   “You did not change,” Arvo found himself saying. “You…helped me.”

   Mike managed a slight smile. “Yeah…I guess I did.” He yawned and turned to look out the back window. Bonnie must have sensed his gaze, because she turned around and offered a smile at both of them before turning back to watch the tree- lined road. 

   “We’d better get some sleep,” Mike said at last. “It’s a long day tomorrow, and we’re gonna have to walk.”

***

   Snow. 

   At least a foot of it had fallen in the night. The road, once a clear marker running South to North, had become in the space of a single night totally obscured, leaving the only indicator of its existence the sudden baldness in the shrubbery that extended as a thick line through the forest. Arvo’s heart plummeted as he realized that they were going to have to _walk_ through all that. _If my leg isn’t healed by now, I’m doomed,_ he thought. There was no way that Mike and Bonnie would hang behind with him for long. His head spun around, searching for Bonnie, but he found the truck empty. _No, no, no, no…_ His eyes fell on the duffel bags of supplies in the back seat, and he closed his eyes, releasing a shuddering, relieved breath. They would not have left the supplies behind. 

   Familiar voices gradually grew into Arvo’s awareness, and he craned his neck forward from his seat in time to see two figures emerge from the trees. Mike and Bonnie seemed to be in a heated discussion. They approached the truck at a leisurely pace, and Arvo relaxed slightly. _They’re not running, that’s good,_ he said, to reassure himself. _If they aren’t running, they aren’t being chased. Now get out of the car and go see what they’re saying, you coward._ After all, they could be talking about him. He forced himself to wrench open the passenger side door, and eased himself into the snow. Arvo instantly recoiled from the idea of walking a mere several yards to the others. _Might as well get used to it now. This is going to be how it is until we find shelter._

   The trio met in the middle of the road, and stood close together for warmth. Their breath created a bubble of hot air around their faces.

   “How’d you sleep?” Mike crossed his arms across his torso. His jacket was zipped all the way up, and he had pulled tight the strings of his hoodie to protect his closely shaved head from the bitter winter air. 

   “Must have slept well enough, to have missed the blizzard,” Bonnie muttered into her bare hands. 

   “Yeah. I’m not looking forward to walking through this…but why don’t we discuss this in the truck? it’ll be warmer in there after a while.” Mike led the other two through the path Arvo had plowed through the snow, and back to the truck. 

   Breakfast was a single can of beans split between the three of them. Bonnie had the insight to scoop a bucket of fresh fallen snow and leave it to melt in a bucket in the truck, so that they could conserve the bottled water. She had found the bucket in the back. A thin crack in its plastic bottom was easily mended with a few well- sealed layers of duct tape across its length. Their hunger quieted for the time being, the three sat shivering together in the truck’s interior. They were silent for a time, and with each second that passed their breath and bodies warmed the air somewhat, making it easier to concentrate on the problem at hand.

   “We should head up to Wellington,” Bonnie suggested. “There’s survivors there. They’ll have food, and people in charge. That’s probably one of the first places that will recover.”

   “I don’t know. Everyone we meet seems to know about Wellington. They’re probably overcrowded by now, and running short on supplies.”

   “Maybe,” Bonnie conceded. “But I don’t know of any other options.”

   “What about Carver’s camp?”

   “That place is probably overrun with walkers by now.”

   “I don’t know…it was a pretty fortified place. And there’s probably some supplies left. We could fix the place up. Make it our own.”

   “But could we defend it? I know at least a handful of people who know exactly where Carver’s place is at…”

   An uncomfortable silence followed, and Arvo felt the need to look away. He felt increasingly more like an outsider among the other two. _Wellington… the others knew about that._ He recalled a whispered exchange between Vitali and Buricko a mere two weeks ago…if only he’d been able to hear the entire conversation. The information could have proved useful. 

   Mike’s eyes fell on Arvo. “I guess now is as good a time as any to check that leg. Anything I can help with?”

   Arvo was shaken out of his thoughts. “No, I can do it.” 

   “Well…then I’m going to divide up the supplies. Just in case we get separated.” 

   “Good idea. I’ll help,” Bonnie chimed in. “Um, Arvo…if there’s anything you need, just holler, okay?”

   Arvo nodded, and the other two pulled the supply bags into the bed of the truck to give him space.

 ***

    “I hope this will work out,” Bonnie said, as she unzipped one of the duffel bags and began to rummage around inside, mentally taking inventory of its contents. 

   “It’ll be fine. There’s a spare bag in here. Not as big as the duffel bags, but it’ll do.”

   Bonnie sighed. “No, I mean Arvo. If his leg isn’t healed enough to walk on, this is going to be very difficult.”

   Mike transferred a few cans to the spare bag. “You saying we should ditch him?”

   “No—- God forbid, no—- I just really, really want this to work out. I want this time to be…different.” She handed a couple cans of fruit to Mike. 

   Mike stored the cans into his duffel bag, thought a moment, and then transferred one of them to the spare. “ I know what you mean.”

   They took a few more minutes to reassemble the supplies into three packs, and sat side by side once they were finished. They had enough supplies for at least a few weeks, if they rationed carefully.

   Bonnie stared at the packs for a moment. “How long do you think the others could have lasted on all that?”

   Mike knit his brow. “I don’t know…a couple weeks, tops? Same as us.”

   “It’s just…I don’t know how I’m going to live with myself. We chose our lives over theirs.”

   Mike shifted uncomfortably. “Can I tell you something?”

   Bonnie nodded.

   “As soon as we were driving away, I regretted it.”

   Bonnie nodded in agreement. “We should have left some supplies for the others.”

   “We should have brought Clementine.” 

   They were interrupted by the closing of one of the truck’s doors. A moment later, Arvo had made his way around the truck, and he stood in front of them, his leg freed of the brace. He looked down at his feet, and shifted from foot to foot, arms hugging around his chest to keep warm.

   “It’s off,” Mike exclaimed. “Nice.”

   Bonnie sighed. “That’s a relief. So it’s okay to walk on?” 

   Arvo nodded once. 

   “Here.” Mike tossed the spare bag to him. Arvo caught it in both hands, and looked up at him. “We split the supplies evenly. Just as a precaution.” He watched as Arvo slung the pack on his back. 

   “So…what now?” Bonnie had joined Arvo on the ground so that all three of them were facing each other.

   Mike left the truck to stand beside the other two. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking, and Carver’s place just doesn’t sound safe to me.”

   “I’m with you there,” said Bonnie. She turned hesitantly to Arvo. “What do you think, Arvo? Any ideas?”

   Arvo looked up, startled. “Me?”

   “Yes, you.” Bonnie shifted her weight to her hip and stuffed her cold hands deep into her pockets. “You’re with us, you know.”

   “Right,” Mike agreed. “You weren’t the only one who messed up back there, kid. Bonnie and I…we left behind some good people. We had to do it, but…” He trailed off painfully. 

   “What Mike means, is we can start over now. So…are you with us?”

   Arvo looked from Mike to Bonnie. “Yes,” he said finally. “I am with you.”

   Mike grinned. Three seemed to him to be much better than two. It was still a scant amount of people, but maybe that was for the best. “Then what’s your vote, Arvo?”

   “North.”

   “You sure,” Bonnie asked. “It’ll only get colder up in Ohio. Wellington’s near enough the Lakes that we’ll be in for a world of hurt trying to survive up there.”

   “Cold is good. Not so for walkers,” Arvo said firmly. “There could be news at Wellington.”

   “That’s a good point,” Mike said. “The people up there may have figured out a way to defend against walkers, too.”

   “They could have scientists there,” Bonnie added. “Or—- someone who may know how to fix this.”

   “I don’t think so,” Arvo said. “But…food would be good. And guns.”

   Mike looked between the two. “Well, then it’s settled. North it is.

 ***

  _“Stop talking, Arvo, you’re giving me a headache!”_

_“Natasha—- Natasha! Look!”_

_“What is it, Arvo? What do you see now?”_

_“On the building! At the top! It’s—- a man!”_

_“What?”_

_“What is that idiot doing?”_

_“Arvo, please, come here now.”_

_“But don’t you see him?”_

_“Arvo—-“_

_“He’s—-Natasha, he’s jumping off!”_

_“Arvo, get away from there!”_

_“Why is he doing that?”_

_“Arvo! ARVO!”_

 

   “You okay back there?”

   Arvo was startled out of his thoughts by Mike’s voice. He wished he would keep it down. The walkers were attracted to noise, and every small sound seemed oddly magnified on the snowy plain. They had left the forest behind hours ago, and continued to trek along the highway until it reached wide, rolling hills. The pale gray sky was silently crying icy flakes onto the already heaping layers of snow that caked the hills around them. 

   Still haunted by his sudden relapse into the past, Arvo couldn’t help but search through the haze around them. Scanning the colorless landscape, he could almost make out the silhouettes of skyscrapers, and a tiny dot of a man poised on top of one, ready to jump. The man seemed to take a deep, steadying breath before hurtling himself into the air, surrendering his twisted body to the asphalt- lined city streets below. 

_“_ _Arvo, I said get away from there!”_

    “Arvo?”

   “Yes…”

   “We can rest for a moment, if you need to sit,” Bonnie turned to look back at him as she walked.

   “There’s nowhere to sit,” Arvo said dryly. “We walk.”

   “Okay,” Bonnie shrugged.

   His thoughts seemed to always return to Natasha, no matter how far away the road took them. But there was something comforting about the exhaustion of the seemingly endless trek before them; something in the rhythm of each step that after miles of non-event became a hypnotizing hum, similar to the single-tone whistling of a car streaking desperately down an empty freeway. It was deathly cold, Arvo was hungry, and he missed his sister more with each haggard breath. The cold was raw against his throat. Each inhalation was the sharp edge of a knife, and every exhalation a hellish burning that offered just enough relief to make the next breath more painful, but not enough to allow a moment of recovery. It felt like he was choking on razor blades. He feared, too, that his leg had not completely recovered. His knee was still weak, and the longer they walked, the more it shook from the strain of holding the weight of his pack. There was no way he would be able to run on it. The terror of being left with a permanent limp plagued his thoughts. _Please, please, let it be okay…_

   How had things turned out this way? It was only a few days ago that he had last spoken to Natasha. _I never thought that a few days ago would ever seem ordinary to me,_ he thought. _I guess even with the walkers, that life before now had became the new normal._ It was ironic, too. Arvo hadn’t thought things could have gotten any worse. 

   “Alright,” Bonnie huffed. “Russian machine boy may not need to stop, but I could sure use a break.

   She allowed her duffle bag to slide off of her shoulder and onto the ground, and then sat on it carefully, making sure not to crush the contents.

   “It’s mostly cans, anyway. And boxes. Don’t want to sit in the snow.”

   “You would literally freeze your ass off,” Mike said, before mimicking her trick with the duffel bag. The slick surface would prevent any moisture from touching the interior. Arvo joined them, voicelessly thankful for the short stop.

   “How long do you think we’ve been walking?” Bonnie sipped sparing amounts from a water bottle.

   Mike took a slow, deep, breath and let it hiss out slowly between his teeth. He closed his eyes for a moment before replying. “Four, maybe five hours? We’ve covered some major ground.”

_“We should find a safe place to stay the night. It’s dangerous out here in the open,”_ Arvo muttered. He wrapped his arms around himself as he tried to keep warm, and peered nervously up at the other two from behind frosted glasses.

   Mike and Bonnie exchanged a baffled look.

   “ _Why don’t you understand?!_ _I can’t believe this…what have I gotten myself into?_ ”  Arvo stood up abruptly, and paced back and forth in frustration.  “ _I’m such a fucking idiot_ …” he sat down again, resting his head in his hands. _I’m an idiot for thinking this would work,_ he thought. He gritted his teeth, and then at last raised his head again to face Mike. _I have to try._ “We…we find shelter. Very soon dark. Is very… _open_ … in this place.” 

   Mike said nothing, only looking at him sympathetically. Arvo flushed in embarrassment and looked out across the desolate plain. _White, white, and more white. Is there any color left in the world?_

   “A sign a ways back mentioned a rest stop up ahead. You know…the kind where truckers would stop for a night to refuel? There’s a chance there could be supplies there. At the very least it would be strong enough to last a night.”

   “Do you remember how far it said it was?” Mike stood up and lifted his duffel bag over his shoulder, allowing it to hang cross- body style, situating the heaviest part behind him so that it wouldn’t limit his movement. 

   “I think five miles. But it’ll be closer now.”

   Arvo felt a surge of panic.  _“Five miles? How could you not have mentioned this before? That’s hours away!”_ Although they couldn’t understand him, Arvo was sure that Bonnie and Mike caught the accusation and urgency in his tone. 

   “I—- I’m sorry. I know it’s far, I just…” Bonnie trailed off when she noticed the look of horror that had suddenly flashed across Mike’s face.

   “Mike..?” She turned around, following his gaze across the hills. “Oh, God—-“

   “Walkers!” Arvo’s eyebrows shot up in fear, and he glanced down at his right leg. _I can’t run…you govniuk, Arvo, you’re going to die._

   “They’re still a half mile off. I remember when we crossed that hill. And they’re slow.” Mike had began to walk briskly along the road. “We can make it. The cold’ll slow them down.”

   “They haven’t seen us. We’ll be okay.” Bonnie glanced a few times over her shoulder as she followed after Mike. “Come on, Arvo. Hang in there.”

_“How could we have been so stupid? Why didn’t we just keep going?”_ He didn’t expect a reply, and he didn’t get one. Arvo hurried behind them, straining his vision as helooked ahead for any sign of a protective structure. He was painfully aware that the cloudy sky was darker than it had been an hour ago.

    By short degrees, the snow drifts became easier to pass through. Packed ice gave way to dead, frozen weeds and cracked asphalt. It was the first time since the night before that they had actually seen the road they were trying to follow. It was now fully dark, the landscape reduced to a jumble of deceptive silhouettes and illusive shadows.

   “ _There!_ ,” Bonnie gasped. She held a stitch in her side as she thrust out her arm to point at the rest stop, just visible ahead. It was several yards after the peak of a particularly steep hill, on an artificially flat space of land that had been leveled to better accommodate shipping vehicles.

   “Thank fucking _God._ ” Mike threw a look over his shoulder to briefly asses the mob of walkers that was alarmingly close—- less than half a football field away. Worse, they were no longer fooled into thinking that the trio was just an outlying group of walkers.

   “There’s so… _many_ of them,” Bonnie said. “We…we have to hurry. If we can just make it up this hill…”

   Arvo sputtered a short distance behind them. The fact that his leg had not fully healed was obvious. He leaned heavily onto his left leg, and bent forward slightly in an attempt to hurry his pace. _Faster! You must keep up,_ he pled with himself. He hobbled hysterically after Bonnie and Mike, fighting the urge to check the walkers’ progress behind him. _Walk, Arvo, Ja pycckij pidaras. It’s simple, you niegadzai koshei bessmertni. Just don’t. Look. Back._

   “Arvo, you have to keep up, man!” Mike halted his pace to look back at the struggling kid. 

   “I. Am. TRYING,” he hissed. In his frustration, he abandoned his previous resolve to not look behind him. 

   They were snarling, seething, oozing, nearly twenty of them, fanned out across the road behind them. Their bodies moved contrary any sense of logical anatomy, their heads slumped against their chests, or lolling over one shoulder, hanging by bundles of exposed nerves and torn skin. Their arms were reaching, grasping, stumps, the claw-like fingers uselessly blackened or snapped off from the cold, leaving jagged knuckle bones pointing at the fleeing survivors. They stumbled over crooked legs and shattered ankle bones, struggled against the constraints of snapped spines, trying with all their hungry might to force themselves straight enough to pursue Arvo and his allies. One of them walked on only one foot, the other having been pulverized into a glob of bone and flesh. The foot’s fetid remains dragged after a makeshift stump that had once been the ankle of a slim young woman. Another looked as if it were hunched in on itself. A closer inspection revealed that its head had been punctured by its spinal cord. Its face gurgled up into the sky, affixed in a permanent position of open- mouthed awe, as if it were being fed succulent entrails by a twisted pair of dark angels, and praising them for it.

   “ENGH—-!” Arvo’s face, still sore from being attacked by Kenny a day before, smacked onto the shockingly frigid asphalt, his one good foot having failed him on a patch of ice.  _“Nyet! Nyet! Help——!”_

   “Arvo!” Mike called out to him in alarm. “God—-shit—-just—- hold on!” He shoved his duffel bag at Bonnie,

   “Mike, what—-“

   “Go! Get to the rest stop! I’ll meet you there!” He sprinted back to Arvo, who was trying over and over again to heave himself to his feet, only to have his waning strength fail him. He collapsed to the ground again as Mike approached him, his countless pathetic attempts at saving himself forcing his breath into short, spastic, huffs.

   “Don’t—-don’t panic.” Mike had reached him at last, and pulled Arvo to his feet. “Come on, buddy we’re nearly there, it’s almost over.”

_“Chto vy delaete?”_

   “I’m trying to save your ass. Just work with me here.”

   “I—- can’t do—-“

   “Just lean on me, and walk as fast as you can.”

_“Eto daleko?”_

   “We are literally one slip away from death, and _I still don’t speak a damn word of Russian._ ”

   The brief stop had allowed ample time for the walkers to gain significant ground, despite the bitter cold. Arvo leaned heavily against Mike, and together they managed to accomplish a steady pace just fast enough to stay a couple yards ahead of the ravenous mob behind them. Refusing to make the mistake of looking back again, Arvo focused on trying not to stumble—- one misstep could send both of them to the ground, and to their consequent ends. Eventually, they reached the base of the hill. Strained for precious time, and already exhausted from a full day’s journey, it seemed to stretch miles into the sky, dwarfing them with its ridiculous and intimidating upward slant. 

   “Stop—-stop! I can’t—-!” Arvo’s voice was cut off as he slipped again, this time falling to his hands and knees. Sputtering, he struggled to catch his breath.

   “ _Get up!_ We don’t have time!” Mike knelt down to help Arvo to his feet.

   “ _Nyet!”_

   “ _Arvo! They’re coming!”_

_I can smell them. They’re almost on us. We’re going to die. You pathetic idiot, you are going to die. Get up, getup GET UP!_

   “…Go!” Arvo swatted his hand at Mike, as if trying to bat away smoke. I—-can’t… _Go!_ ” 

   Mike stood up, recoiling from his flailing arm. “ _Kid…”_ He reached down to him again, offering a helping hand.

_“NYET! Stoj…stoj.”_ He could hear their groaning, the scratching of exposed joints; he could smell their stench. _Natasha, I’m so sorry…I’m so sorry…I tried. There’s no reason to do this anymore. If I die now, it’s over. If I live, it’s just more running and being cold and being hungry all the time…being scared all the fucking time…I’m sorry, sister, I’m so, so, sorry._

   “Oh, no. I don’t fucking _think_ so!”

   “Argh!” Arvo was literally lifted from despair by a pair of strong arms. Mike.

   “Now listen to me. I did _not_ come this far for nothing. I did _not_ leave behind Clementine after _she was shot_ just to lose another friend! So you are going to stand the _fuck_ up, and you are going to drag your sorry hide up that hill, or I will make you _wish_ that you had gotten your face torn up by walkers. _Now come on!”_  

   Arvo was yanked roughly to his feet, and forced up the hill. Mike threw his arm around his torso and half carried, half dragged a spent Arvo determinedly upwards, throwing his body weight into the dramatic incline of the terrain. The walkers were a mere yard behind them. Their outstretched arms grappled with the black nighttime air as Mike fought Arvo and his own failing strength to reach the top of the hill. Arvo ground his teeth together as his jittering right knee strained to keep himself upright. He was half delirious with terror and pain. The world had become suddenly too fast paced, the night too bright, and his breath too loud. It was all too baffling to his jumbled senses. His vision was magnified to the point of nonsense. There, a rotting arm. There, a pinprick of light. There, a solitary tree, left to blacken and die from infection years ago on the side of the road. Everything was a puzzle piece magnified beyond recognition, all laid out side by side, lacking any common pattern or logic. His head bobbed up and down with the jarring movement of their uphill struggle. Sometimes, he caught a flash of sky. More lights. He watched as they seemed to smear and bleed as his head jerked down again. Suddenly, he was falling forward. The stars were turning, forming a streaked circle as the tree on the side of the road grew larger and spun like a pinwheel. The hot screams of the walkers scalded the back of his neck. There was a fumbling, before the screams faded and receded from his senses, tumbling backwards like marbles being tossed across the blacktop at his elementary school playground. _But I’m falling,_ Arvo remembered. Reality untangled itself suddenly, expanding and fanning out as it shouted, “aha!”, and Arvo’s cheek slammed into a solid gray mass. 

   Disoriented, he laid with his cheek on the road as he tried to become accustomed to the sudden silence of the night. He squinted as his eyes were burned by a sickly white light, and an indistinguishable figure emerged from the lit beam and ran towards him. 

   “Oh, my God,” it said. “ _Oh, my God—- Mike!”_

_Mike,_ Arvo thought. He had saved him—- again! Where was he? _Where am_ I _?_ Groaning weakly, he peeled his cheek off of the freezing ground, and pushed himself up to his hands and knees, sucking in a painful breath as he squeezed shut his eyes and waited for the world to stop spinning. Once he felt more stable, Arvo allowed himself to sit back on his legs. He gingerly felthis freshly re-bruised left cheek as he looked around for his savior and—- dare he say it—- friend. 

   They were at the top of the hill. The rest stop was glowing like a beacon cutting through the wintry darkness, and Arvo felt a crashing wave of relief at the realization that they had made it. They were safe…for now.

   “I’m here!”

   Arvo spun around in time to see Bonnie dashing towards the beginning of the slope of the hill, where Mike presently staggered up to his feet, clutching a bloodied axe in his hand. 

   “Oh my _God,_ Mike. Your’e alive!” She stopped breathless in front of him, about two arms lengths away from where Arvo sat. 

   “Did you think I wouldn’t make it?”

   “For a moment there…yeah.”

   Arvo struggled to his feet. “What—-what—“

   “What happened?” Mike looked at him. “You…blacked out. The walkers caught up to us, and I was able to knock a few over…sent them all tumbling down the hill like dominoes. They’re gonna stay down there, too. Look.” He gesture for the others to look down the side of the hill.

   Sure enough, their rotting foes were unable to scramble up the steep incline of the glorious hill. Once or twice, one made it a third of the way up, only to lose their balance and skid back down, hitting a few of its own and dragging down a handful of others with it. 

   “But…I don’t get it.” Bonnie brought arms close to her chestbent her head to blow a gust of hot breath across her white knuckles. “I thought you said your leg was okay, Arvo.”

   “It…it much worse from walking.” Arvo hopped slightly as he shifted his weight off of his injured knee. “It was good at first, but…such long journey makes it not so good.”

   “I was afraid of this,” Mike sighed. He turned to Bonnie. “Please…tell me you have some good news about the rest stop.

   “Well, the place looks picked clean. There’s a broken window that’s been boarded up, so I think somebody must have been here a while ago. The roof must have solar panels, because the lights still work.”

   “We should turn those off,” Mike suggested. “Arvo.”

_He hates me. I nearly got him killed, and now he hates me._ “…yes,” he asked timidly.

   “You were far too eager to give up back there. You can’t…you can’t just lay down and let them take you. It’s just the three of us now, and we need to be able to rely on each other. You have to promise me something.”

   Arvo nervously rubbed his hands together. “I am not…not so good. I used to be good at running away, but now—-it’s not so good now.”

   “Okay. Okay,” Mike clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “I get it. But just…promise me that from now on, you’ll fight. No matter what.”

   “Okay,” he replied uncertainly. Desperate for a few hours of rest, they followed Bonnie into the rest stop, too tired to speak any longer.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This spin- off fanfiction is based off of Telltale Game’s The Walking Dead. The ending of season two left me disappointed in its treatment of Mike, Arvo, and Bonnie. It continues Mike, Bonnie, an Arvo's story after escaping Kenny and his group in the truck.  
> Often, Arvo will speak in Russian. In this case, all of what he is saying will be italicized and in quotes. It will be specifically said that the other characters either do not acknowledge him or do not know what he is saying.  
> Constructive feedback is greatly appreciated.

2.

 

_The air tasted warm and dusty. The small boy lifted his head weakly, confusion drowning him as he tried to make sense of his surroundings._ Why is everything so fuzzy, _he thought. He turned his head around and around, searching through the drab patchwork of unfamiliar shapes._ There. _He reached out his arm until he felt his fingertips touch a thin length of slick, cool metal. He slipped his glasses on his face, the startling temperate sending a shiver down his spine, transforming his back into gooseflesh. Blinking, he surveyed the room. It was small, with a single window overlooking a colorless street overgrown with weeds. A stack of musty smelling quilts was stacked on a chair next to the bed. A faded dresser was burdened with an ancient, boxlike TV, and a wooden jewelry box laced with an intricate golden pattern around its mouth. The carpet was hopelessly dated, a statement of the lack of taste that the owner of the house had exhibited thirty years ago, and, by the looks of the rather hideous choice of tacky wall art, had carried to present day. Arvo stared, transfixed, at a disturbing cartoon picture of a bear feeding honey to a rabbit, until the door to his room creaked open, causing him to focus on the slim figure entering the room._

_“Arvo, you’re awake.”_

_Arvo felt at ease hearing his sister’s voice. Though only fourteen years old, she was already very beautiful. Her blonde hair and fair complexion recalled happy days spent with their mother, and her voice carried her father’s gentle spirit. Natasha made Russian a beautiful language._

_“Yes…I think the bear woke me. Or maybe it was the dust.” He let out an involuntary cough._

_“Don’t let Tetya hear you say that. She’s already worked up about what happened. You passed out, you know. Right after the man…fell.”_

_Arvo sat up, suddenly remembering. His throat closed as he held back tears. “Natasha…why did he do that?”_

_“I don’t know. People sometimes do that when they’re very unhappy. I heard of a wealthy banker doing it once, when he lost a lot of money.”_

_“He jumped off a building…for losing money?”_

_“Well…kind of. People find different ways of doing it.”_

_“Like how?”_

_Natasha suddenly turned stern. “Arvo Kozlov, you are eight years old. You don’t need to be thinking about this any longer.”_

_She moved the stack of quilts from the chair, and disappeared from the room. A moment later, she had returned, this time with a mug of steaming tea and a plate of toast. She set each thing down carefully on the chair._

_“You must rest now. It’s about three o’clock, so you can see Tetya at dinner later.” She stroked his hair gently before crossing the room gracefully. She stood in the doorway, watching Arvo as he held the mug in his hands. “It’ll be okay. We’re going to like it here,” she assured him. “We’re going to like Amerika.”_

_Arvo watched her as she closed the door behind her. A puff of dust stirred into the air from the motion of the door, and the room was left as noiseless as if she had never been there at all._

 

   The wind had quieted over the past two days. Arvo was glad. The cold was bad enough without having to worry about the heartless wind. The rest stop had been sturdier than they had at first thought— sturdy enough that, after a brief discussion, Bonnie and Mike had grown fond of the idea of resting there for a few days. Although Arvo would much rather have left early the next morning, his choices had been severely limited by his sore leg. After a full day of rest, however, he felt much revived: he could walk again, and could even manage a slight jog for a short amount of time. Mike had warned him not to push it, but Arvo couldn’t help but feel the smallest bit heartened by his minuscule improvement. He used his renewed mobility to scour the nearby hills for any source of food—- small animals, herbs—- anything, really, to supplement their twice daily meager meals of canned goods. The rest stop had access to minimal power. The two large solar panels wired to the slanted roof seemed to have been a secondary source of power, and had lost the fragile stability offered by electric lines scattered across the nation a year ago. Along roads and highways were the remains of tall, spindly wooden poles strung with miles and miles of hair thin wire, a testament to good times lost. What power the solar cells had stored away, the three outcasts used for heat. This eased the major burden of collecting firewood, and possibly saved their lives, asthere was little to offer in terms of real shelter or wood to burn on the rolling plain. They were safe. 

   Arvo knelt down to examine the sparse branches of a bush. _I’ve checked this area twice already, but I can’t go back empty handed,_ he thought, as he parted the brittle branches with numb, dry hands. Perhaps he could find the burrow of a small animal? He privately doubted it, but checked the area around the roots anyway. The earth was frozen stiff, impossible for anything to dig through, much less make a home in there. Defeated, he stood up—- slowly, careful not to strain his injury—- and tried to make peace with the fact that he would have to return to camp bringing only disappointment. _Opezdal, you must try harder. You need to prove that you’re worth having along…you already nearly got Mike killed, so the least you could do is offer something as basic as food._ Arvo was more fit for city survival. Natasha had been able to rely on him when he could utilize such skills as lock picking, hot-wiring cars, and urban scavenging—- but out here in the middle of nowhere, Arvo was losing hope of ever gaining Bonnie and Mike’s good graces. 

_“At least it’s calmed down out here,”_ he said, watching a solitary walker stagger across a distant hill. There were actually quite few this far out, though they were scattered and practically harmless. They couldn’t make it up the steepest of the hills, like the one Bonnie had found. 

   Returning to camp, Arvo found Mike examining a broken window, while Bonnie scrutinized a map laid out on the convenience store counter. It was the only thing of real use that they had found in the building. She looked up as he approached, but seeing that he had arrived empty handed, Bonnie quickly returned to the map. Arvo wilted.Mike straightened at the sound of his friend securing shut the door, only to let out an unchecked sigh of disappointment when he realized that it had been another unlucky run. Swallowing his own despair that he had been unable to prove himself a decent scavenger, Arvo sat in a chair situated in front of a filthy window, kicking aside a Red Bull can that strayed too close to his foot. The sound of the aluminum can skittering across the blood and dirt flecked linoleum floor and between bare shelves only added to the depressing atmosphere. Arvo stared at the grime crusted into the seams between two tiles in the floor, giving in to self- pittance. 

   Mike finished taping a huge _X_ across the broken window, and followed it up with a cross- shaped figure, for improved stability. He stood back from his work, somewhat satisfied, before joining Bonnie at the counter. 

   “What’s up?” He pulled a swiveling chair next to her, and straddled it, resting his head and arms on the top of the chair as he frowned at the map. 

   Bonnie sighed. “We’re a long way off from Wellington,” she murmured, smoothing the map flatter against the counter in agitation. “These hills go for miles…we’re going to take longer than we originally planned. We’ll have to stop more often. The next town isn’t for another thirty- four miles.”

   “Shit,” Mike stood up and leaned over the map. Arvo watched them from his seat by the window.

   “Well, there’s got to be a ranch or something along the way,” Mike reasoned. “There’s no way that all this land is going unused. It’s gotta be owned by someone.”

   “Well, there’s some kind of ranch here,” Bonnie traced her thin finger along the markedfreeway for a time, before trailing it off to the East, at a plot of land labeled ‘Jargen Ranch’. “But that’s nearly eighteen miles…we’ll never make that in a day.”

   Arvo reluctantly left his safe spot, and joined the other two. The three of them scanned the map in silence for a few minutes. 

   “Wait,” Mike said abruptly. “Let me see…” He shifted the map slightly towards him, eyes traveling across its charted towns and fields. He drew a sharp intake of breath before planting a finger on a green spot. “Here. An orchard, just eight miles north of here. ‘Marrison & Greload’s Orchard’.”

   “Eight miles…that’s real far, Mike,” said Bonnie, her eyebrows knit in worry. 

   “Not nearly as far as Jargen Ranch,” Mike replied shortly.

   “And where would we go from the orchard?” She continued worriedly. “ That’s still…” she stopped for a moment, thinking. “Well, that’s 10 miles from the orchard, which is still a lot of land. We’d never make it.”

“We don’t have a lot of other options.” Mike stood up and rubbed his temple.

   Bonnie hesitated. “This place could be an option. You saw how those walkers got trapped at the bottom of the hill. This place is easily defended, and it has _heat_. Staying here for the winter…well, it’s something to think about.”

   “That? That was a pretty fucking big stroke of luck. But we can’t rely on _luck_ for an entire winter,” Mike snapped.

   Already agitated from hunger and worry, Bonnie rose to meet his aggression easily. “ So you suggest we _walk_ thirty- four miles? With Arvo how he is? It’ll take long enough already, but in his condition—“

   “What? So we hole up here? There’s _nothing_ out here, Bonnie. We can’t live off of dead grass and icicles for four more months. And anyway, look—- the kid’s been walking around fine. Hell, I had to tell him to stop running earlier.”

   “We thought he was _fine_ before—- but you nearly killed yourself trying to save him!”

   “Instead of what? Leaving him behind?”

   Bonnie staggered. “You _told_ me to get on ahead! Don’t you pin that on me!”

   Arvo backed up, and gripped the back of his chair anxiously, watching as they rallied back and forth, expending all of the energy they had regained over the past two days in a flurry of fear and agitation. _This can’t work,_ he thought. _We escaped one broken group, only to form another one that’s already cracking._ His nervous eyes flitted between the two of them, watching the fear scratched into their gaunt, drawn faces. Their voices had risen, and Arvo recoiled as Mike’s usually kind voice fought to dominate Bonnie’s.

   “We will _starve_ out here!” He exclaimed, eyes thrown wide beneath his furiously lowered brow. “The longer we sit here on our asses, the less food we have to get us through our trip outta here!”

   “Have you gone _blind?_ Just _look_ at those hills, Mike! I don’t know how you can expect us to survive however the hell long it takes to get across all that—- we’ll die from cold!”

   Mike slammed his fists down on the counter, making Bonnie and Arvo flinch. “ _Nobody asked you to come along.”_

   Bonnie’s shoulders dropped, and she took a few paces backwards. Mike unclenched his fists immediately. “Bonnie…” he began, his voice softened.

   “No, you’re—- you’re right,” she said, turning away. “I’ll…check around here again. Just to be sure we didn’t miss any supplies.” Head still down, she fled to the back room. 

   Mike sighed long and deep, sinking into his chair. “Shit…I didn’t mean to be like that.”

   Arvo said nothing, just watched him mournfully from his spot by the window. 

   Mike suddenly looked up. “You know…I had a brother, once. We used to fight like that all the time.” He chuckled quietly. “The things we would argue about…” He trailed off, lost in memory.

   Arvo closed his eyes and looked down at the floor again. _I don’t know what I expected when I decided to go with Mike,_ he thought. _I just wanted to get away from that demon- spitting redneck…I didn’t think about how things would be after that._ He clenched his jaw, and his heart rate picked up as his recollections summoned the image of Kenny’s face, teeth bared savagely, eyes livid with senseless hatred. _One man took away everything important to me…just one Hooyesos and his gun._ Arvo swallowed bile, and stood up determinedly. He was going to find a way out of this. Or at least he would try…maybe. If he was lucky, maybe he’d come up with something. He zipped up his jacket and left the rest stop. Mike didn’t even look up.

   There was the rest stop on one side of the road. The other side of the road split into a narrower offshoot, leading into a lot where truckers could park and spend the night. Arvo crossed the freeway and followed that road, which sloped downwards until it dipped out of sight, feeding into the parking lot. They had already checked these trucks for supplies, but one had been completely raided already, and the other one was full of nothing but loads of furniture that Arvo guessed must have been being transported to a showroom somewhere. But, it wasn’t the cargo he was after. _I’m going to get one of these things to work. We’re going to drive to the orchard—- or maybe straight to the town Bonnie was talking about._ He followed the dimming path, making sure to check the perimeter regularly for walkers. A few minutes later, he stood in front of both of the trucks. _Which one should I look at first?_ After a moment of thought, he hoisted himself up onto the driver’s seat step of the furniture truck, which was more beaten up, and peered inside. _I need to break the window._ He stepped off the truck, and grabbed a good sized rock from the grass at the edge of the parking lot. He stood in front of the truck, weighing the risk of the alarm going off as soon as he smashed the glass. It really was pretty beaten up, unlike the other semi, which looked rather new. _Hopefully this old one is as beaten up inside as it is on the outside,_ he thought. And if not, well…Arvo shook his head. He needed to do this. Mike needed him to. And Bonnie. 

   He pushed his glasses nervously up his nose. Slowly, he raised the rock above his head. The image of Kenny flashed in his mind, forcing him to remember how he had curled up on the ground, helpless, as that giant of a man had kicked him and punched him, over and over, calling him every nasty name his understanding of the English language had graced him with. Arvo bared his teeth. 

_“Watch this‘Commie’ now, asshole.”_ He hurled the rock at the glass. The glass splintered like ice. _“Again,”_ he ordered himself. _“Fucking kill that asshole!”_ He bashed the rock against the glass again, and again, and again—-

_“YES!”_ Panting, he reached his hand gingerly through the jagged hole, adrenaline making his fingers twitch. Finally, he felt the lock button. Letting out a sigh of relief, he pushed it to “unlock”.

   He yelled and yanked his hand from the window as the alarm blared deafeningly, and fell backwards onto the ground. _“Chyort voz’mi!”_ He gripped his right wrist and gritted his teeth as warm blood trickled down his arm. _“Chto za huy?! Ohooiet’!!”_

   Dazed, he staggered to his feet, just in time to see the previously “harmless” walkers begin to consolidate into a single unit and work their way up the hill. _No no no…this hill isn’t steep enough! They can get up here!_ Breathing shallowly, he curled defensively over his arm, and slowly backed into the screaming truck. _What do I do?! What am I supposed to do?_ He yelped as a walker gargled near his left ear, and dodged it as it attempted to throw its body weight on him. It fell face first into the ground and bean to drag itself across the asphalt towards Arvo, who darted around the front of the truck in an attempt to escape. He crouched uselessly behind the passenger side’s front wheel. The blaring horn was pulsing a steady, obnoxious rhythm into the cold air, blasting through snowflakes, across the endless ocean of blanketed hills, drawing the local undead population towards the rest stop like moths to a lightbulb. _I need a weapon! Why couldn’t I have brought a knife? An axe? A fucking stick?!_ The dead had reached the edge of the parking lot. Arvo watched in sheer terror as they fought their way successfully up the hill. He could almost smell their rank hair, could practically see their decaying gums. If he didn’t act—and _now_ —- he would soon feel their blackened teeth tearing into his soft flesh, and pulling out his intestines, feeding on his jugular. 

   “Angh!” In a split second of blind fear and speeding adrenaline, he leapt up, he grabbed the passenger door, and let himself in, slamming it shut onto the hand of a yowling walker. It jerked spastically as Arvo cried out and stamped on it until it went still. At last, he pounced into the driver’s seat, securing the lock. _You idiot, Arvo…have you ever even heard of walkers opening doors?_ Trying his best to ignore the hungry, shrunken faces moaning and batting against the glass, Arvo ducked underneath the gaping hole in the window, wishing that he had brought the rock with him. His thoughts were distracted and scrambled by the incessant blaring of the horn, and the peeling, shriveling corpses lined up outside his very door, feeling, reaching, grasping, through the cracked glass. He fumbled with the compartment underneath the semi’s steering wheel, managing against all odds to unscrew it with his keychain screwdriver, exposing bundles of plastic and wires. _Come on, hurry up!_ He fingered through wires, and at last quieted the horn. Letting out a desperate cry of relief, he felt for the ignition, and after few moments of tinkering, the truck grunted into life. 

_“Da—- I did it!”_ Wasting no time, Arvo immediately reversed the vehicle, and it sprung into animation. Arvo noted with satisfaction the _crunch_ of bones beneath the wheels, and imagined plowing over hordes and hordes of walkers, though in reality it was nearer to twelve. Laughing triumphantly, he drove the truck up the road to the rest stop, taking care to swerve into any walkers that dared near him. 

 

   “Arvo? What—-” Mike called out as the truck neared. Arvo was waving wildly and shouting excitedly in Russian. Stunned, Mike hacked into the neck of an invading walker before waving uncertainly back.

   “What the hell—-?” Bonnie kicked over her own enemy, whacked across the head of another that was creeping up behind her, and then dashed out the remains of the downed walker’s brains. “I’ll grab the stuff!”

   Two little walkers began to groan and grind their way across the street. They soon met their _second_ untimely ends as Arvo skidded to a stop parallel to the rest stop. He inched forward slowly, crushing an unfortunate walker whose legs had just been caught by the front wheel. Mike groaned in disgust as the deformed skull cracked, oozing discolored fluids and staining the snow. Bonnie dashed up to the truck, laden with their bags of supplies, the map tucked under her arm.

   “Nice going, Arvo,” she called, before taking a seat beside him. She stowed their things in the space behind their seats.

   “Not bad at all, kid.” Mike grinned. He pulled the door shut behind him. 

   “We will _drive_ to town,”Arvo crowed. He put the truck in gear, and shot forward.

   “Finally, some _good_ news,” Bonnie laughed. She tossed a rag to him for his wrist.

   “How the hell did you get out of there alive,” Mike asked. “As soon as I heard that horn, well—- my first thought was, ‘shit, that asshole’s dead’—-“ he laughed in astonishment, and had to stop to catch his breath. 

   “Damn, now I feel like shit,” Bonnie said. She reached across Mike, batting his arms playfully out of the way as she rolled down her window. She lit up a cigarette and took a long drag, and exhaled, noticeably relaxed. “There I was havin’ my little diva fit, and you went and scored us a ride. Nice.”

   Mike shrugged. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Looks like you’re okay, though,” he said to Bonnie. “We got a map, you got some cigarettes.”

   “It’s not my brand, but hell, it’ll do,” she surveyed him out of the corner of her eyes as she blew out another puff of smoke. “Hey kid, you want one?” 

   Arvo shook his head sheepishly, and Mike roared with laughter.

***

 

   The road was ridden with hazards. Ice patches, potholes, and the occasional wreck resulted in a slightly slower than normal pace. Arvo wasn’t exactly an inept driver, but he had relied almost exclusively on city transport for his entire life. 

   “Shit— watch out for that ice patch— _dude!”_ Mike winced as the left rear wheel lost traction for a split second, forcing Arvo to grapple with the steering wheel to keep them on course. “I thought you were being a badass hitting those walkers earlier…but now I’m just questioning whether you actually know how to drive.”

   “Sorry—sorry,” Arvo panted.

   It was hard to make out the dangers on the road. The bright country stars reflected on every slick surface, glittering off of dew laden shrubs and streaking across the icy road. The tires often struggled to keep traction, and every few minutes Arvo’s heart skipped a beat and seized in fright as he felt the vehicle slip ever so slightly. He felt Bonnie tense up beside him as this happened again, and muttered a half Russian apology as she tiredly laid her head back down onto Mike’s shoulder and closed her eyes.

   “I’ve been thinking about that orchard,” she said without opening her eyes. 

   Mike looked down at her. “Yeah?”

   “Mm- hm.” She yawned and opened her eyes. “I was thinking that we may as well check it out on our way to town. There could be something of use there.”

   Arvo risked a glance at the pair of them. _What’s happening here…_ The truck began to drift ever so slightly on a sheet of ice.

   “ _Arvo_ , the road, man! Pay attention!”

   “Oh—-,” he realigned their course, carefully steering around another major ice patch.

   “I think we should definitely check it out,” Mike said. “If for nothing else, to get Arvo out from behind the wheel.”

   Arvo flushed. _“You ever try driving a pair of love- struck baboons down a frozen freeway during the apocalypse?”_ Bonnie didn’t need to understand his Russian this time. She stopped resting her head on Mike and lit up another smoke.

 

   It had been a short drive to the orchard. Arvo pulled the truck into the entryway, which continued down a long, wide driveway. He parked there at Mike’s request.

   “It’d be better to walk, just in case there _are_ people living here. Wouldn’t want them to know about the truck.”

   “Fine,” Bonnie sighed as she slid from the doorway. “But I don’t like it.”

   “It’ll be fine,” Mike assured her. He handed her the long pipe she had used to defend herself back at the rest stop, and armed himself with the axe. 

   “Uh,” Bonnie looked at Arvo, who was standing unarmed next to the truck. 

   Mike frowned slightly as he looked him over. “You’d…better just stick close with us,” he muttered, turning away to lead them down the path.

   Arvo’s spirits fell. _Of course…that little girl._ He crossed his arms and hunched his head down against the clinging cold, his heart heavy with regret. _I am so stupid…why can’t I think things through? What would Natasha have thought?_ He clenched his eyes shut against the agony of her imagined reaction: her horror stricken face, paler than normal, bending down over the girl as she stares at him in shocked accusation. _“What have you done? Arvo….what the hell have you done? Haven’t you caused enough trouble already? Oh, god, she’s bleeding so much…why would you do this, Arvo? Why?_ He gritted his teeth and shook his head slightly, trying to rid himself of the image. His dead sister mourning her killer was too twisted of an image to dwell upon. But she _would’ve_ mourned her. Natasha was like that. _The girl could have survived the shot,_ he reminded himself weakly. _She could be alive right now._ Although the thought of his sister’s killer up and walking brought him no comfort in his grieving, it did, in a twisted way, ease the guilt of his secretly hoping that she _hadn’t_ lived. _Wishing a little girl dead? What is wrong with me? What am I becoming?_ He bowed his head gripped his hands into fists, trying to fight himself out of his confusion. _She deserved it, didn’t she? But if she did, I still wish I hadn’t done it…did she deserve to die? If she did, or even if she did not, I want her to have lived so that I won’t have murdered her…but I also wish she were dead, for what she did to Natasha. I don’t know what I want…But that’s not true, either._ He stopped walking, and looked around him for a moment. The orchard was sleeping. The dozing trees along the path cast tall shadows that melted into a single, dappled shadowplay among the dormant roots, and the branches arched over their heads, creating a canopy that disturbed the view of the cosmos above. _I want Natasha,_ Arvo thought. 

   A rustling tore him from his reverie, and Arvo snapped into attention. He held his breath, scanning the trees around him. His heart fell into the pit of his stomach—- _where are Mike and Bonnie?_ The straight path ahead of him was deserted, and no trace of his friends remained to be seen anywhere. His breath picking up to match his racing heartbeat, Arvo slowly crept forward, one step at a time—- one foot forward, and then a quick three- sixty—- another foot forward, and then a panicked glance behind him—- but nothing jumped out to meet him, and his friends did not reappear. 

   “H-hello?”

   Nothing.

   “Mike?”

   The wind swelled in response, and Arvo shivered from the cold and his nerves as it cut through the orchard and his jacket.

   “Mike? Bonnie? Please,” he hissed desperately into the dark. There was no answer.

   Unnerved, he backed down the path, and, fighting every instinct to _remain still,_ he held his breath, _and he spun around_ —-

   The path behind him was empty, as well. He decided to wait back at the truck. They probably just went ahead without him. _It wouldn’t make sense to get lost looking for them,_ he rationalized. _The best thing to do is to just wait for them in a place I know they’ll find me._ It wasn’t too far to the truck, anyway. It would be safe there. He could lock himself inside, and simply wait for the others to return. _What if they don’t come back? What if they left you?_ Arvo picked up his pace, ignoring his doubt. _Really._ His doubt continued to encircle his head. _Who would want you along anyway? Look at yourself. You’re just an ugly coward who can hardly speak English. You’re nothing but a headache to them._ Arvo walked faster. He was spooked by the shadows. His head whirled around every few seconds, checking the perimeter—- he heard another rustle, and the crack of a branch—- _“Nyet,”_ he whispered. _You’re wrong, wrong, WRONG,_ he snarled back at the voice. _But I have to get out of here—-_

_“Who’s there?”_ He had stopped, and was breathing haggardly, nerves on edge, hair disheveled, glasses askew. He pushed the cracked lens back up his nose with a shaking hand. His breathing calmed. Perhaps he had scared away whoever—- or _whatever—-_ was out there. But something told him that wasn’t the case. He stood on the moonlit path, just outside the beginning of the tree canopy, and watched down the path, assessing every shadow, marking the seconds as they ticked by. 

_Snap._

   With the energy of a speeding cheetah, he bolted down the path. It was in close pursuit, he was sure of it—- he sputtered wildly, swearing and pleading in Russian, thrusting one foot in front of the other in rapid succession, completely ignoring the jarring pain in his bad leg. He was not alone. It was just behind him—- and it was not Mike, or Bonnie, or anything _human_ at all. _No—- no—- what the fuck is chasing me?! Oh, god we should never have stopped—-_ his foot hit a rock, and he launched forward and skidded into a stop, and was reduced to a heap of scrapes and bruises.

   “Stop! _Nyet— STOJ!”_ He shielded his face with his arm, splayed out on the rough gravel path. He stayed stone still for a moment, only his hyperventilated breathing breaking the silence of the night. Gradually, he allowed his shoulders to relax, and he lowered his arm. Gasping for breath, he staggered to his feet, and backed the remaining two yards to the truck. Eyes still fixed on the path, he yanked open the door, and clambered inside. He let out a single sob as he locked himself up, melting back into the shadows of the interior. 

   He sank against the mildewy smelling fabric of the seat, and gazed forlornly at the duct- taped hole in the driver’s seat window. _Where are they?_ He shuddered involuntarily, and rubbed his arms to disperse the goose bumps that rose at the thought of waiting there, _alone,_ when he was not even sure if his friends would return. _Or if they’re even alive._ He didn’t bother reprimanding his own thoughts this time. 

   Somewhere, anywhere, across the gently sloping plain, there had to be somewhere safe to spend the night. They had left behind the drastic hills of before. Arvo had watched the mighty swells of the land reduce to light gradations of height in the space of just eight miles. Things happened so quickly now. Who knew what the consequences could be for a mere few hour’s rest? Someplace, there was safety—- and, as he gave in at last to exhaustion, Arvo could almost convince himself that if there was security anywhere in the world, it was in the locked confines of the battered truck. 

***

_It’s so bright…_

   It was his wrist that woke him. Arvo groaned as he sat up, the first rays of dawn illuminating one of the side mirrors and flashing disorienting colors and light across his eyes. He blinked for a moment, and then began to hunt around for his glasses. 

_I can’t believe I slept through the entire night. How could I have allowed that?_ Displeased as he was, he could not summon up the energy to be truly angry with himself. He was much too sleepy for that. In another hour or so, he would be tortured with the stupidity of his actions from the previous night—- but for now, it was all he could do to keep from falling over. At last, he retrieved his glasses from beneath the driver’s seat. He winced as the skin across his slashed wrist stretched, but forced himself to sit up, unzip his jacket, and wipe his glasses clean with the hem of his t- shirt.

_That’s better._ He rolled his shoulders in discomfort, and re-zipped his jacket. The orchard was bathed in pinks and yellow- orange, and looked…peaceful. It would have looked much more appealing if Mike and Bonnie were there beside him. Arvo studied his reflection in the driver’s side view mirror as he struggled to think of a plan. He found no answers in the nondescript dark-blondish but not-quite-brown shade of his hair, or in his thinly pursed lips. He hated looking at his appearance. He turned away in mild revulsion. _Natasha would have known what to do,_ he reflected helplessly. But Natasha was gone. He was all alone. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the seat. Arvo had never felt smaller. 

   The truck rocked slightly, and Arvo startled into full attention, his blue eyes thrown wide. “Mike?” He turned to look out each window. There was nobody there. A dim, tinny, rhythmic sound began to inch its way close to him.

_“What? What’s—-“_ It was coming from _on top_ of the truck. Arvo threw himself farther back into the seat as the sound—- footsteps, he realized—- halted just above his head. A pause. Then, suddenly, the entire truck lurched as the source of the sound leapt right, smack in front of him, slightly denting the hood of the truck. 

   Frozen in fear, Arvo gripped the sides of his seat as he stared straight into the eyes of a nimble figure obscured head to toe in dark clothing. It was crouched across the hood, and, as he watched, it pulled from its belt a long, curved, wickedly gleaming knife.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've done a bit of research (and by that I mean Google) and there are not really a lot of Mike, Bonnie, and Arvo fics out there, whose sole purpose it is to further develop those characters. I don't think there are a whole lot on the Russians, either. That being said, I'm very glad that I can offer my own take on what I think should have happened in terms of character development. I hope that those who read this enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.  
> On that note, I'd like to say now that each chapter is going to take a couple days to update. I am a student, so writing five hundred or so words a day is pretty much where I'm at right now. Just don't be surprised if it takes me a week to produce a new chapter--- and don't worry! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the sudden leave of absence...it's been crazy for me lately, applying to colleges (holy crap), school, and, to be honest, my creativity for this project just dried up for a while. The fact that FORMATTING things on this site is such a pain was also a major factor, thus the bad quality of the below text...sorry.  
>  Please, forgive me, and enjoy this little tidbit I've written here. It's not filler, I promise. I do plan to go somewhere with this, and I just love to leave people agonizing over cliff hangers (if you read the last chapter, you know what I mean).

Four Weeks Ago

“Vitali,” Buricko’s voice was coarse as he woke his dozing friend. “ Get up, you gandon shtopany. I just saw something.”  
He had been leaning against a tree, eyes blissfully shut, gun across his lap, for the last twenty minutes. Buricko sat across from him, crouched behind a tall stack of wooden slats. He hadn’t been surprised when his friend had slipped into unconsciousness. The past week and a half had been a lengthy journey, and the two of them together had probably snagged only a handful of Zs each.  
“Govno,” Vitali swore quietly. He winced as he sat upright, arching his aching back. “How long was I out?”  
Buricko had his clear, beady eyes trained on the half- constructed house just beyond the wood pile. He did not break his gaze as he replied. “Twenty minutes,” he muttered. “Look through here.” He motioned for Vitali to move closer beside him and peer through a gap between two wooden planks. He shifted aside to allow him more space.  
“Ah, yes. I see her now.” His brow dropped into a scowl as he watched the silhouetted figures move behind makeshift curtains thrown up inside the house. He sighed in frustration as he sat back against the tree, allowing Buricko to retake his post. “What now?”  
“We wait.” Buricko broke his gaze and glanced back at Vitali. She’ll be fine.  
Although his friend hadn’t said it aloud, Vitali read the meaning in Buricko’s expression. Although not fully comforted, he nodded slightly, thankful for his silent support. “Where’s the kid?”  
Buricko shrugged, but Vitali knew him well enough to know that the absence of the youngest member of their group put him on edge. Buricko was like a rock. He was their anchor, their willing protector, and he was their leader, however much he denied it. Whenever their group was spilt, Buricko’s eyes grew more nervous, his stance more defensive. His shoulders were presently tensed from the stress of waiting, in the cold, for Arvo to return.  
“That zasranees had better hurry. I don’t know how much longer she has.” Vitali fingered his gun in agitation as he watched Buricko. Any shift in his cousin’s cool demeanor would alert him to any trouble happening within the house. Vitali would have preferred to watch the windows himself, but reasoned that if only one person could manage to watch through the slats at a time, it should be Buricko.  
The night was peculiarly clear, and colder than usual. It was a bad night for a stake out. Vitali watched the trees behind him, ears perked for the sound of Arvo’s limping gait. Although, if he doesn’t want to be detected, I won’t hear anything at all, Vitali reflected. He may be spineless, but Arvo had proven to be a surprisingly versatile ally. His city smarts may not be of much use in the Tennessee countryside, but Arvo was, at his core, a survivor. Vitali thought that his cunning and resourcefulness compensated well enough for his lack in courage or strength of any kind. Buricko, he knew, was rather protective of him. Although he could be exasperating, Vitali found that Arvo had somehow managed to endear himself to him, which was not a very easy thing to do.  
“Is Natasha okay?”  
Buricko and Vitali jumped, simultaneously aiming their guns at the source of the noise.  
“It’s just me! Don’t shoot!” Arvo dropped the sack he had been holding and held up his hands, his eyes peering distractedly over the wood pile. “Is Natasha okay?”  
Vitali hissed in annoyance. “Sit down,” he growled, throwing a broken branch at him. “She’s fine. She’s about to be even better, assuming you brought the things.”  
Arvo nodded vigorously, and handed the sack to Vitali. He peeked inside before quickly handing it to Buricko for inspection.  
“Is it good?”  
Arvo sat awkwardly between them, his injured leg laid out in front of him. He shivered violently, causing his glasses to slip down his face. He nervously pushed them back up his nose. Vitali felt almost sorry for him. What is he again? Seventeen? Eighteen? At his age, I was attending a university. Vitali wondered, not for the first time, how this mouse of a kid had managed to survive for as long as he had.  
Buricko didn’t answer Arvo. Instead, he looked at Vitali, as though conveying an unspoken command. Immediately, Vitali grabbed his gun and followed Buricko as he slunk into the shadows of the trees behind them.  
“What—-“ Buricko shushed the kid, leaving Arvo to creep cluelessly along behind Vitali—- much to Vitali’s annoyance. He didn’t trust Arvo to cover his back for one second.  
The three reached the wall of the house, and hovered in the darkness there, a yard away from the door. I guess we’re going to take them now, Vitali thought. He strengthened the grip on his gun, watching as Buricko pulled a smoke grenade from the sack that Arvo had brought. Buricko tore a filthy scrap of fabric from one of his pockets and doused it in snow, pulling a fistful of it up, letting the warmth of his hand melt it. He wrapped the damp rag around his face, and waited while Vitali and Arvo did the same.  
“We will take the men,” Buricko ordered quietly. “Arvo will free his sister. If we are separated, we meet back at camp.”  
Buricko wasn’t one for words.  
“Go!”  
He let loose a readied smoke grenade, and Vitali wasted no time following him into the choking, screaming, chaos inside the house. It was extremely difficult to see—- he waited for an opportune moment, when the shape of one of the enemy appeared in front of a lit lamp, before tackling it viciously. The gray billows obscured Buricko from his sight, but Vitali heard the screeching of an injured man suddenly silenced, and knew he was close by.  
“Ugh—“ He staggered backwards in response to the sharp jab of a shotgun butt into his torso, and retaliated with his own blunt attack. The man fell, and Vitali tracked the figure with his eyes as he hit the floor, struggling to catch his breath in the smoke. He fought to keep his burning eyes open long enough to bash the man’s face in, before surrendering to a fit of coughing.  
“Buricko! Vitali—-“ Arvo’s voice was broken off by his own desperate wheezing.  
“Get to camp, zalupa! Are you deaf? I said get Natasha out of here!” Vitali ground his teeth as he reached out in front of him, searching for the exit. There didn’t seem to be half as many people as he had thought—- not that he was complaining. “Buricko! I think we’ve finished them!” It was just as well: the smoke was thinning. Wispy tendrils of black escaped through the three’s entry, lifting their temporary blindness to reveal eight people laying on the floor in various stages of dying.  
Vitali braced himself against a wall, letting fly a bout of dry coughs that scorched his throat. Somewhat recovered, he threw his gaze across the room to meet Buricko’s. His hands curled into fists when he received only the stares of dead men.  
“Buricko?” Vitali marked with relief that his cousin wasn’t among the dead. He was heading towards camp, then. Shaking off the lingering waves of adrenaline, Vitali pushed himself off the wall and grabbed Arvo’s discarded sack. Might as well loot the shit out of this place. He stooped over to grab a gleaming pistol—-  
A gun cocked behind him, followed by a sharp intake of breath.  
“Don’t move.”  
Shocked, Vitali froze. It was one of the men—- at least, he thought it was. He had an American accent, not that that meant anything in Tennessee.  
“Put. Down. The gun. Don’t turn around—-just put your hands where I can see ‘em.”  
Vitali took a moment to process the meaning of the stranger’s request. What does ‘turn’ mean again…? Fuck this American bliatz.  
A scuffle seemed to have broken out near the doorway somewhere behind Vitali. Before he could turn around and investigate, he was knocked off balance and kicked down to the floor. He grunted and tried to spring up, but was held down forcefully by someone’s foot—- presumably the American who had spoken a moment ago. The scuffle was halted with pained groan that signified a nasty blow to the stomach. Vitali tried to crane his head to look behind him, but his face was smashed forward into the wooden floor. Dazed, he was unable to protest as his hands were quickly bound behind his back.  
“Get everyone in here,” came a gruff voice. In his confusion, Vitali couldn’t understand what it meant. The meaning became apparent a moment later, when the bustle of many feet filled the room, and the door was shut and locked behind them.  
Vitali was hoisted up and thrown against a wall. Facing him were four strangers—- three of them armed—- and one familiar face.  
“Natasha!” She looked up at the sound of her name. She, too, was bound, and restrained by a scruffy middle- aged man. He pushed a gun against her side, forbidding her from replying. Vitali’s anger rose—- how dare they touch her. “Put her down, you zjulik! Shob tebe deti v sup srali!” He tried to jump to his feet, but was whacked across the face with the butt of the first man’s shot gun.  
“DON’T MOVE.”  
A woman in the back, one of the unarmed, laughed at the abuse. Vitali’s eyes snapped onto her. She was short and dirty, her greasy hair hacked to chin length. She smirked and made a kissy face at him as he glowered at her, his face burning where the blow had made contact.  
“Now, son.” The man who had hit him knelt down in front of Vitali. “Why don’t you tell me who ya are?” He drew from his belt a dirt and blood crusted hunting knife, which he pressed threateningly against Vitali’s throat.  
“Just kill the faggot already,” came the sneer of the short, greasy woman. “You saw what he did—- you saw what he and his skinhead pimp did to Thomas!”  
“Layna, shut up,” hissed a tall, dark-haired Korean man next to her.  
“Fuck you, Drew.”  
“Quiet, both of you!” The man released the pressure against Vitali’s throat as he turned to address the feuding pair. “And there’s no need for that language, Layna,” he added angrily. Layna snorted and looked away.  
A pounding at the door.  
“Let them in,” the man said, standing up.  
“Stop—-argh!” A giant of a man crossed the threshold, dragging Arvo behind him. “Nyet—-stoj!” Arvo was drenching wet, his jacket sucked tight against his shivering body. He splayed water across the floor as he was dragged into the center of the room by the hair at the nape of his neck  
“Arvo!” Vitali called to the pitiable boy. Why was he all wet? He’d freeze!  
“Arvo, what did they do to you? Are you all right?” Natasha was silenced once again by the gun jabbed against he side.  
He attempted to rise into a sitting position, shivering violently—- but the tall man kicked him back to the ground, and held him there with his foot.  
“Adrien,” the man nodded at his ally’s approach.  
“Norman,” Adrein replied. “How are the wounded?”  
Norman fingered the hunting knife that had a mere moment ago threatened the skin across Vitali’s throat as he searched for an answer.  
“There are no wounded, jackass. These fucktards painted the floor with them! ”  
Adrien turned to face Layna. His face paled. “No…not…Marcus?”  
“See for yourself,” Layna replied. Her voice had lost its venom. She dropped her head, and released a tired sigh.  
Vitali watched as the tall man—- Adrien, by his understanding—- crossed the room and knelt by the crumpled from of a dark skinned male. His head was surrounded by a pool of blood.  
“Oh, god…no!” Adrien fell onto Marcus’ body, pressing his face against his as he sobbed uncontrollably.  
Vitali’s heart wrenched. These are people, too. I may not understand what they’re saying, but I can understand that this Adrien must have cared much for that man. These people had taken Natasha, but even anger- fueled Vitali felt a twinge of shame at what he had done. I didn’t want to be a killer.  
Drew joined Adrien beside Marcus’ body. “I’m so sorry, Adrien,” he muttered. He swept his hair from his face as he bent down next to Adrien, placing a comforting hand on the other’s shuddering shoulder.  
“I—- I loved him…oh, god…”  
Norman sighed heavily and motioned for Layna to come to him. “You and Drew, get…get the bodies out.”  
Layna nodded.  
Norman turned to look at Vitali. He was quiet for a moment. “Tie them up,” he said decidedly. Drew grabbed Vitali and fastened his hands to an exposed rail of some sort against the wall.  
“Kamal,” Drew called for the attention of the man holding Natasha and motioned for him to tie her next to Vitali.  
Kamal tied Natasha on the other end of the rail—- about two feet away from Vitali—- and then dragged Arvo towards the fireplace, where he secured him to the grate by a short length of rope.  
“Please, don’t hurt him.”  
The man—- Kamal—- looked at her briefly. Unable to understand her, he just shook his head and stood up, pushing out of his crouch with his hand before crossing the room to watch the other four from the window.  
“Arvo—- say something to him,” Vitali cringed at the fact that he had to demand Arvo’s services as a mediocre translator when the boy was half frozen. And in front of Natasha, too, he thought, shamefaced. What must she think of me? But the situation was bad—- very bad. Their attack may have been justified, but Vitali’s group had just effectively slaughtered half of Norman’s group. Now, they were at the mercy of angry, grieving kidnappers.  
Arvo looked balefully at him, blinking dripping, overlong hair from his eyes. He looked more pathetic than usual, and absolutely exhausted. Despite Vitali’s thinly concealed contempt for the kid, he found himself struggling to swallow a lump of hot indignation. What had they done, taken the boy out to the river, and just tossed him in? What kind of person does that? And where was Buricko?  
“Vitali,” Natasha sounded just as spent asher brother looked. Her hands, bound to the pipe above their heads, held the weight of her sagging arms, and her head was resting against her right elbow.  
“Natasha?”  
“I…was worried that nobody would come.”  
“We couldn’t have left you. Impossible.”  
She lifted her head slightly to look at him. “Thank you…but…oh, God, this is all my fault. I just dragged all of us into deeper shit. Even my own brother.”  
“It’s not your fault. And Arvo’s another reason we couldn’t just leave you…the idiot would’ve tried to get you out by himself.”  
Natasha chuckled weakly, and watched Vitali from one eye, the other obscured by her arm as she rested her forehead and cheek back against her leather jacket’s sleeve.  
Meanwhile, Arvo’s shivers had shrank from violent shudders to occasional minuscule jitters. He had watched their exchange with some apprehension, and presently sat up straighter and pulled his good leg protectively against his chest.  
“Vitali…some—- something happened.”  
Vitali broke his gaze from Natasha’s, turning to face Arvo. This was about Buricko, he knew it. “What happened? Why are you all wet? Did you see Buricko?”  
Arvo seemed to mentally stumble. He closed eyes very briefly, and took a steadying breath. “Buricko—- he—-“  
“—- don’t care if it was provoked, those assholes killed him!”  
“Layna, just—-“  
“Go to hell, Drew!”  
The door had flown open to admit the four other captors, Layna in the lead, her greasy black hair dusted with snowflakes from the winter night. Drew had his arm on Adrien’s shoulder, and was facing the small, spitting woman defensively as she raged tearfully at the much taller man.  
“We have to make them pay,” She yowled through a barrage of desperate, angry tears. “You—- you never—- never liked him—-! Y- you wanted this!”  
Drew removed his hand from Adrien and advanced towards Layna a single step. “Layna…you know that’s not true. I- I’d never want this for anyone… I know what Thomas meant to you. I may not have liked him, but I’d never—-“  
“LIAR!”  
Norman secured the door behind them. His expression was dark, and he seemed unwilling to placate Layna, or comfort Adrien, who had taken to mourning as he sat in the chair beside Kamal’s window. He lingered beside the door, gazing sightlessly at his hunting knife as he turned it over and over and over in his age- spotted hands. Vitali guessed that he must be nearly fifty.  
“You don’t understand,” Layna spat. She razed her hand angrily across her face, parting a river of tears as they poured relentlessly down her face in livid anguish.  
She quieted then, suddenly and all at once. She gasped once, holding back another sob. She ducked her head, clamped shut her eyes, and dug her nails into her palms. She gasped again, catching herself mid sob, loosing a light, girlish hiccough from the force of her struggle to halt her tears. She hiccoughed again. Drew receded a step away from her, allowing Layna room to grieve. All eyes on the room were watching the small woman: Vitali’s group nervously, Layna’s emphatically, all while Norman continued to stare down at his hunting knife. The room had quieted but for Layna’s occasional, light sobs and hiccoughs. Vitali switched his gaze to Arvo. The boy seemed to have dried off some, and was looking sadly down at the floor. He looked up once at Vitali, displaying his regret for the situation in a quick glance, before sighing and returning his eyes to the floor. This is very, very bad, Vitali thought. A part of him regretted what had happened—- but it was fear for his, and his friends’ own safety that he most worried for. This group—- Norman’s group—- was going to punish them. Most likely, they would kill them. Certainly, Vitali would be the first to go. Arvo was involved in the raid, though he didn’t kill anybody, so Vitali knew without a doubt that the boy would die as well. Natasha…They could spare her, Vitali thought. After all, they’d kept her captive for three days already. But she’s associated with us. Her usefulness probably will not win her any mercy. So, this is it? We all die? Vitali scanned the faces of everyone in the room. Surely, there must be a way out of this. If there is, Arvo will have to negotiate, he realized with dismay. Could Arvo handle something like this?  
Vitali looked intently at Arvo, trying to catch his eye, but he was still staring dolefully at the wooden floor. Frustrated, Vitali tried to kick at him. Though he was at least a yard short of connecting the blow, Arvo’s attention was gained from the movement. Vitali gestured at the other group. Talk to them, he seemed to demand.  
Arvo’s eyebrows shot up behind his glasses, and he shook his head slowly. Are you crazy? He locked his jaw, and shook his head once more, with feeling. No way.  
Vitali gritted his teeth in annoyance and desperation. He turned to Natasha, and jerked his head towards Arvo. Talk some sense into your brother. Natasha knit her brow at him.  
Vitali flicked his eyes towards the ceiling. Please.  
Natasha pursed her lips and sighed quietly. She turned her eyes to her brother, looking up at him grimly. We must. She turned her gaze to Norman, still staring broodingly at his hunting knife. Hurry.  
Arvo squinted his eyes and shook his head, but his shoulders slumped in agreement.  
“Um, excuse me?”  
All eyes in the room shot to Arvo. The silence deepened, and Arvo shrank beneath the weight of five accusing pairs of eyes.  
He swallowed once. “I—- we—- should talk, yes?” He trailed off uncertainly.  
Norman stayed the motion of his knife, and devoted his full attention to the boy lashed to the fireplace grate. “Yes,” he said, crossing the room slowly. “We should. Why don’t you start? Explain—- this.” He threw his arm out to gesture violently across the room. “What… happened here?”  
Arvo hunched his shoulders and threw a nervous glance across the room. Layna, Drew, and Adrien were glaring at him. Kamal cast a single, disgusted glance at him before turning to watch out the window. Arvo’s expression hardened. “You…took my sister.”  
Norman crossed his arms across his chest. “No,” he said. “They did.” He pointed to the door that, less than an hour ago, had seen the exit of five bodies. “We were not with them.Well—-“ he caught Layna’s gaze. “Not all of them.”  
Vitali scowled in confusion. “Arvo, ask this asshole what he’s talking about,” he snapped.  
“What did he say?” Norman asked sharply.  
“He—- he wants to know what you are talking about,” Arvo threw a look at Vitali.  
“About a month ago, those men got us out of a real tight spot. Huge wave of Dead. They helped us out.” Norman pulled up a chair to sit across from Arvo. “We let ‘em stay with us for a bit. But…after a few days…they wouldn’t leave. You think that you’re the only one to lose someone close to you from those men? I—-“ Norman’s voice faltered. “My daughter.” He sighed shakily. “They—- took my daughter from me. Sold her to some traders. We didn’t know that this girl here was with anyone. We thought that she wouldn’t be missed—-“  
“Traders?” Arvo glanced at Vitali. Vitali looked uncomprehendingly back at him.  
“Oh…you don’t know.” Norman shook his head slowly. “Well, it’s best you do, so here’s the basics: there’s a market out there for…well…unwilling companions. You see, as people become more and more desperate, they become more willing to sacrifice anything—- even other people—- in pace of their own people. Their families. Those people—-“ Norman jerked his head at the door again—-“Those people were…I guess you could call them “collectors”. They look for people like who we thought your sister was. Alone. Unprotected. Easily overpowered. And…they trade them to other groups. Usually for weapons and supplies.”  
Vitali flicked his eyes between Norman and Arvo, silently simmering in helpless anger. What are they saying? What is this? What are these…what was the word…? “Collectors”?  
“That sounds…very much like slavery,” Arvo said, his voice injected with undeniable horror and disgust. “You were going to…enslave…my sister?”  
Norman swept his sparse hair flat against his scalp as he looked away in shame. “It’ not quite like that,” he began.  
“No, Norman. It’s exactly like that.” Drew stepped forward from the edge of the room.  
“Drew.” Norman barked sharply.  
“No, Norman…he’s right.”  
Vitali watched in mild surprise as Layna, the short, angry woman, joined the tall Korean man in front of Norman.  
“Look…I know I disagree with you a lot, but…this really just isn’t right. Let’s just…let them go. I’m tired…”  
Norman stood up in shock, and faced the others. “Let them go…? Have you forgotten all that we’ve been through? All that we’ve lost?” His voice had risen.  
“So what, keeping theses people here will change all of that?” Drew took a step forward, unconsciously.  
“No, it damn well won’t!” Norman gripped his wicked hunting knife in his hand, advancing forward to match Drew. “But at least we won’t starve through the winter. Look—-“ he gestured to Natasha. “This one, at least, will fetch a hefty price. And maybe even that scrawny rat.”  
Arvo’s face grew livid as Norman spoke of Natasha. “My sister will fetch no price for anybody! Let. Us. Go!”  
Norman whirled around and thrust his fist into the boy’s face, causing an uproar from Natasha and Vitali.  
“You cunt, don’t you touch him!”  
“Leave him be, or I swear I’ll tear your throat out!”  
“QUIET,” snarled Norman. His fury had peaked, and he gripped his knife n his fist as he drove it down into a table by Kamal’s window. The room fell silent. “We leave for town tomorrow, at first light. We will be rid of these killers, and all of you are going to cooperate.”  
The enraged man met no further resistance. 

“Arvo!”  
It was pitch black in the room, save for the dying embers of the fire. The others had retired upstairs, except for Layna, who had fallen asleep at the window half an hour ago. Vitali could see the curve of Arvo’s cheek dimly illuminated by the beaten fire, and the dim gloss of his hair. With Layna finally asleep, Vitali was desperate to find out what had happened to Buricko. Nothing was right. As painful as it was to admit, Vitali knew that he could not protect Natasha without his strong, steady cousin by his side.  
“Arvo!” He hissed at the boy, his voice scarcely a whisper in the darkened room.  
Finally, he saw Arvo lift his head, and heard him groan slightly. The cold water must have bothered his bad leg.  
“What is it, Vitali?”  
“Are…you okay? What happened?”  
Arvo seemed to sigh, and Vitali could almost see him looking down at the floor as he replied.  
“That man, Adrien…he nearly drowned me. Me and Buricko tried to escape across the ice, but the man grabbed my leg, and—-“  
“Buricko’s alive?”  
“Pshht,” Arvo hissed indignantly.  
Oh, right…Vitali lowered his voice. “Buricko survived? Then…where is he?”  
Arvo sighed again, and Vitali could actually see him shaking his head: a dark indigo outline against the black mass that was the silhouette of his head. Vitali glanced at the window. Dawn must be just a few hours away.  
“He wouldn’t have left us,” Vitali said. Such a thing wasn’t possible for Buricko…was it? Why would he leave them? Did he think that he stood a better chance surviving on his own? Sure, Arvo was a bit of a chore, but even he had his uses. Natasha was strong, and young. And Vitali…well, Vitali had always followed him everywhere. Vitali had always been loyal to Buricko, because Vitali had always needed him. Even when they were boys back in St. Petersburg, it was Buricko who stood up for Vitali on and off of the schoolyard. And now, Vitali was lost without him. Maybe that’s why he left, Vitali realized in horror. Maybe he didn’t want the responsibility of looking after three people. A cripple, a loyal sister, and a pathetic dog hounding you at every turn…maybe he knew this would happen.  
“No,” Vitali said, shaking his head.  
“What?” Arvo lifted his head from his arms, facing Vitali, though it was still too early for their eyes to see anything but shadows.  
“Buricko will be back. He’s family.”  
Arvo was quiet for a minute, and Vitali thought for a moment that he had gone back to sleep.  
“I hope so,” he replied, before laying his head back down, and sighing a deep sigh of exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you're thinking...THE RUSSIANS!!!! Please, feel free to share any critiques on how I wrote Vitali and Buricko. What do you think of Vitali/Natasha?   
>  I'll try to post to this story a few more times over the next couple of weeks. I'm always writing, it's just that I have like 3 to 5 stories going on at all times, and I get side tracked. I'll probably post another fic I've been working on. It's not TWDG, but if you're a fellow traveller of Tamriel, you may be interested ;)
> 
> Stay strong, and don't forget to leave any suggestions for Arvo and his (mis)adventures!


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